90 books
—
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Agustín 'Commander Celeste' Salas
https://www.tumblr.com/blog/commanderceleste
https://www.goodreads.com/commander_celeste
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“Sometimes it feels like I'm gonna explode, like everything I'm feeling is the first time anyone's felt it, ever, in the history of the universe, and then I get so angry when people don't understand that I'm walking around feeling like this and still doing everything I'm supposed to do and making As and getting into NYU and putting up with all of the Willowgrove bullshit. I—I can't even explain how I feel, and it feels wrong to say it without the right words, so I don't say it at all, but then nobody knows, and I'm mad that nobody knows, even though I don't even want them to know.”
― I Kissed Shara Wheeler
― I Kissed Shara Wheeler
“There was this one weekend, a million summers ago, when I sat on the shore drinking a frozen limeade, and I realized the only thing I wanted to look at was the way the sun hit the girls swimming in the lake.
The problem has always been this: When I look at you, I taste lime, and I see light on water.”
― I Kissed Shara Wheeler
The problem has always been this: When I look at you, I taste lime, and I see light on water.”
― I Kissed Shara Wheeler
“Emma puts her head on Wallace's shoulder but she won't say anything either, can't bring herself to. No one does. No one ever does. Silence is their way of getting by, because if they are silent long enough, then this moment of minor discomfort will pass for them, will fold down into the landscape of the evening as if it never happened. Only Wallace will remember it. That's the frustrating part. Wallace is the only one for whom this is a humiliation.”
― Real Life
― Real Life
“Fight for yourself if need be, or fight for the other person if he is slipping away. Just don’t give up. Not if you love him and he loves you back.”
― Something Like Thunder
― Something Like Thunder
“I am but paper. Brittle and thin. I am held up to the sun, and it shines right through me. I get written on, and I can never be used again. These scratches are a history. They’re a story. They tell things for others to read, but they only see the words, and not what the words are written upon. I am but paper, and though there are many like me, none are exactly the same. I am parched parchment. I have lines. I have holes. Get me wet, and I melt. Light me on fire, and I burn. Take me in hardened hands, and I crumple. I tear. I am but paper. Brittle and thin.”
― The House in the Cerulean Sea
― The House in the Cerulean Sea
Agustín’s 2025 Year in Books
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